


Mortality

by Korpuskat



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: F/M, Female!Jack, GTA AU, M/M, Other, Tags Contain Spoilers, grief and how the boys DONT deal with it, hurt/comfort but mainly hurt, immortal au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 11:51:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5706670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Korpuskat/pseuds/Korpuskat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Criminals don’t get long lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mortality

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this a couple months ago and forgot I had it so, uh, here.

Criminals don’t get long lives. That’s just how it works. Criminals don’t get long lives or happy families, don’t get the mortgage and 2.5 kids. Maybe if they get out of the game early enough, don’t make enough enemies they can survive in the normal world. At least, until they get the house visit that ends with a bullet in their cranium.

But the Crew never bothered with that kind of dream. None of them were particularly drawn into this career just to turn around and live the American Dream. None of them were very fond of clean-cut relationships when their entire job description was breaking any law they damn well wanted to. They had a ‘live fast, die young’ unspoken motto that always told them to wear their vests for everyone else’s sake, but know sooner or later they’d all wind up in the same place. 

For some, it was sooner. 

They’d all thought it would be Gavin. Reckless, impulsive Gavin who had a great knack for pissing off everyone he met. Everyone else… had some degree of skill that got them out of tight spots more than once. 

Everyone had been shot sooner or later. Geoff had a bullet carve a scar just over one shoulder; Michael had a nearly perfect circle on his thigh. Jack caught a ricochet in the ribs once. Ray’s hoodie usually covers the scar up his right arm where a bullet sliced clean through. Gavin’s left hand is an absolute mess of scar tissue and doesn’t like to talk about how he got it (Ray has a betting pool set up for when he does tell them; his money’s that Gavin actually did it to himself with his own stupidity). 

Ryan, however. Ryan was the stoic, intimidating monster of the Crew. He was damn good at his job. He wasn’t immune to damage- he’d stubbed his toe and burned his hands cooking as much as the rest of them. But he’d never been really hurt. Not the hurt that makes the rest of the Crew tense and quiet beyond recognition. 

No one saw it happen.

\-----------

They had a plan to spread the cops out and away from a little hand-off Geoff had arranged with the Funhaus crew just before noon. Four of them would rob separate stores and drive just badly enough to keep the draw the cops away. Once they were outside the city they’d be free to lose the attention. 

Of course, this meant nearly all the police force in Los Santos was on two thirds of the main crew. 

They couldn’t tell when it happened (Ryan had always been the silent one, after all), but suddenly he was there, in their comms. Horror filtered through five people’s chests and they heard a loud _pop_ , heard him curse wildly, heard the whine of metal bending and grinding. Heard the choked gasps that finally faded off. 

\----------

Nobody had really come home from that heist. Protocol told them to sit in their safe houses until they were actually safe. But five people entered Geoff’s penthouse suite that afternoon with varying levels of hope. Each time someone opened the door everyone else’s heads shot up. Whoever entered looked around the room. 

No one spoke. What was there to say? Ray stared out the window, Michael fidgeted. Jack and Gavin stared blankly around the room. When Geoff retrieved a bottle of whiskey Michael joined him. 

\----------

None of them really slept that night. Jack attempted to coax Ray to at least go keep staring in his room, but when he wouldn’t even meet her eyes she relented. She knew that kind of ache. All he wanted to do was take disconnect from it all and if they were lucky he’d be back with them when he was ready.

She herself laid down in Geoff’s bed while he sat holding his head in his hands. He had promised himself not to break down in front of his boys (or lady), so Jack politely ignored the choked sobs that shook the mattress from time to time. When he quieted she touched his arm gently.

He eventually laid down beside her and they stared at the ceiling for a few hours, their hands clasped loosely together, only occasionally stroking the other hand with their thumb.

 

Michael had paced nearly the entire night, full of restless, relentless energy that told him to drive the fuck out to wherever Ryan’s car was and dig through the twisted metal and scream at whatever was left. Told him to get the biggest gun from the shop and greet LSPD with a new present for the fucker than had caused this.

His nails bit into his palms, scratched along his hands and arms, scraped until he drew blood. Paler hands took his and drew him to his own bed. Neither of them would sleep. Gavin whimpered and Michael, for all his rage, gathered them close enough to be melded together. Every time he had another vision of anger he held Gavin tighter, grit his teeth, pretended his tears weren’t matting Gavin’s hair as much as Gavin’s were staining his shirt.

Frustration and anger and inconsolable loss drove Michael to kiss down Gavin’s neck, to shove at their clothes and grind their hips together until Gavin’s sobs quieted and his thin, spindly body tensed for just a moment.

 

Ray closed his eyes for a moment and was greeted with dead, bloody eyes under a mask. He didn’t close them again.

 

\----------

 

They all kept their phones on, kept them within reach all night. Checked them hourly. They got no messages.

 

\----------

 

Nobody spoke of the red, puffy, baggy eyes over breakfast, which was more just too bitter coffee for those that could stomach it. No one questioned why Ray hadn’t moved. Jack was the one to turn on the TV. She switched to the news and waited. They all did.

Two cheery anchors informed them that there had been a crash after a high speed chase. The nearly unrecognizable shape of a green and black sports car overtook the screen and Gavin’s sob drowned out the news anchor. Jack rubbed his back until he returned to his own room.

 

\----------

Jack and Geoff waited for the others to trickle away to debate what to do. He was one of the family, he didn’t deserve the pine box the government would give him and they needed to find out if he’d had a will. Geoff replied they both knew damn well Ryan didn’t give a shit what happened to his body after he died and exactly who in this penthouse had a will drawn up and by who, exactly?

As much as Geoff wanted to move forward, to just wake up the next morning and pretend that either A) Ryan Haywood had never been a part of the crew or B) retired peacefully in favor of a mortgage and 2.5 kids, he knew Jack was right. He was adamant that nobody in this crew would be left behind, they were a family god damnit. But gathering whatever was left of the Vagabond’s corpse… that made the nightmare real. 

The tears started again and Jack held him, let him rest his head on her shoulder and fist handfuls of her shirt. 

He agreed. They would go get him, bury him themselves. Tell nice little stories about how creepy he was with that stupid mask and paint, how much he meant to all of them, how great he was with his mouth. That’s what people did at funerals, right? He thought he felt Jack nod.

 

\----------

 

In the afternoon (Gav noted quietly it had already been a day) Geoff announced the plan to the Lads. If they didn’t want to come they didn’t have to. It was personal, he got it, but they were gonna do this right. They were going to break into the morgue and steal their friend’s body ‘cause that’s what they did. Michael agreed immediately. Gavin said he couldn’t do with handling the body, but he needed to be there.

Geoff turned to Ray, who finally looked away from the cityscape. A sharp, silent nod with determined, awake eyes. 

“Then we’ll do it tonight. Get some sleep before then, boys.”

 

\----------

 

They weren’t quite expecting what awaited at the morgue. The plan went flawlessly. If the green and black stars on their jackets wasn’t enough to terrorize any doctors and nurses they passed, all five of them carried murder in their eyes- daring anyone to step out of line and justify a bullet. Not that Ray needed much justification. A lowly security guard hesitated a moment too long and earned him a silenced shot between the eyes. Nobody protested it.

But in the morgue was a different story. An orderly nearly pissed himself as their tattooed leader dragged him along. He was babbling, incoherent, nonsensical. A gun to his throat made him shut up and point to the refrigerated drawer were one Haywood, _James_ ’s body was to be stored. 

Geoff hesitated for only a second. And then the handle was turned and the long tray slid out. With.. nothing on it. The orderly babbled again-

For all their screaming at the man, he could only provide one answer. “He was gone by this afternoon, I swear! I- I checked the logs, no one signed for his body. S-someone else must’ve... Oh, God, please….!” 

 

\----------

Michael usually drove, but Geoff took the driver’s seat and everyone else filed in after. Geoff’s knuckles were white under the black tattoos, gripping the steering wheel too tight. From the muscle twitching in his jaw he was grinding his teeth. Jack held onto the file the orderly gave her, reading and rereading the finely printed letters. She’d looked inside for a moment and caught sight of the report photos. She knew Geoff had seen them over her shoulder. 

They’d only thought the Zentorno was an unrecognizable mess. Perhaps part of it was the lack of his mask and face paint. He looked so much smaller without his jacket. So much more human as a corpse.

As the entered the penthouse Geoff finally spoke. “It has to be Funhaus fucking with us. God damn fucking bastards.” He moved instinctively towards the liquor cabinet, but froze as he stared down at the couch. 

Unpainted, clothing bloodstained and torn, was one Ryan Haywood staring back at the five of them with his cornflower blue eyes. “I don’t know where the fuck you’ve been, but you would not believe the day I’ve had.”

Michael crossed the room in four strides and punched him right in the face.

**Author's Note:**

> IMMORTAL AU BITCHES.


End file.
